


Somewhere in that Silence

by bunnybunz



Category: Weak Hero, Weak Hero (Webcomic), Weak Hero (Webtoon)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Tasty Bad Boys, you know you want it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnybunz/pseuds/bunnybunz
Summary: You meet infamous Ben Park under a snowy night sky when you feel the most lonely.
Relationships: Ben Park/Reader, Humin Park/Reader, 박후민/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Somewhere in that Silence

You first hear the shuffling of snow in the late afternoon, on your way home from classes. It is when the sun is midway behind the horizon that you spot him, a hulking figure pushing an equally as sizeable snowball down your street.

You ponder the idea of approaching him, but he looks far too focused on doing whatever he was trying to accomplish.  
Perhaps making the world’s most disproportionate snowman?

You pull back your sleeve and check the time.  
Just enough time to shower and then catch up on some work.

You tiptoe so you make less noise in the snow, and there’s only a few seconds to give him a brief glance before you slip into your house. In those fleeting moments, you catch sight of auburn bedhead hair and flushed tan skin. And then you’re past the front door, successfully avoiding an encounter with the strange man.

The event slips your mind as soon as you enter the warmth of your house, kicking snow off the bottom of your shoes.

“I’m home,” You say. There’s no response, which makes sense because no one is here. Shrug, and take off your shoes. Place them on the empty rack to the right.

You go about your usual routine with a head full of thoughts. When did your friend want to do a study-meet up again? How long will it take to finish those assignments? What kind of tea should you make before bed?

You’re stepping out of the shower before you know it. Steam engulfs the room and fog eats up the mirror before you can see yourself in it.  
Sometimes, you feel like a ghost haunting your own home. It makes you wonder if you really even exist, and you hate those thoughts so you wipe down the mirror and leave before it fogs over again.

Dinner leaves a single dirty dish and silver fork in the sink, the echo of china in a hollow kitchen urging you to deal with it tomorrow.  
Instead, you trek upstairs to your room again, lining up more tasks to busy your night until you pass out until noon tomorrow.

Your neighborhood is quaint.

It is quiet, and that is what you’ve become accustomed to.  
You loathed it at first, hated the way the quiet would ring in your ears and drape over your body, whispering into your ear and reminding you of the cold emptiness around surrounding your bearings. Through time though, you grew to stomach with it.

There was a routine. Everything that fell into a pattern no longer felt like a lonely task in a quiet place, instead becoming just a task in just a place. Motions were like clockwork, everything was to be expected, and so nothing was to be feared.

Usually, desk work is dreary, but easy.  
Your desk is situated right in front of the window, so you keep the windows cracked to let a breeze in. If you’re lucky, there is bypassing conversation, or a yodeling cat to listen to. These things keep you awake in fascination, lull you to sleep with it’s comfort; a reminder that you are not alone in this world despite being ever-so-lonely.

But tonight, it is different.

The clock on your bedside reads nine o’ three past midday. You look from the clock to the window, seated at your desk, work splayed on the table. 

You’re not quite sure if you’re imagining it, or if there is still commotion in the streets.  
You get up and draw the curtain back a bit, peering curiously out into the night.

Sure enough, it is the same red-headed man as before, still rolling the snowball and occasionally stretching his back, complaining into the barren emptiness of the night.

You wonder if your neighbors have heard him, or if he’s disturbing anyone. You shift a bit, pulling the curtain open wider with keen interest.  
He certainly wasn’t bothersome to you.

“Ah, seriously. I feel like such an old man! My joints ache!”

He drums at his back with a heavy fist and you feel a laugh bubbling up in your throat, but it dies quickly as you cover your mouth, not daring to disturb the silence still coiled in your home.

“That shitty Alex. This would be so much faster with him here.”

You wonder who he’s talking about, and why he’s out there all alone. Watchful eyes stare as he goes back to the laborious task of pushing the snow in the cold, unaware of the audience he had just attained.

After a few moments you let the curtain fall and it drapes lifelessly into place. A chilly breeze sweeps into your room and you shudder, debating on a thicker sweatshirt.

You throw open the closet and grab the first cardigan you see, stopping short when your gaze lands on a heavier winter jacket.

The sounds of the man’s occasional complaint reach your ears as you stand there, pondering the strange course your day had taken today.

Perhaps this was a sign to break away from your routine. You had grown to tire of it long ago anyways.

There’s a chime that plays from the kitchen and you suddenly recall the water you had been boiling for nighttime tea. The clothes hanger slips from the closet and clatters noisily onto the floor but you pay it no mind, already out the room and pulling on the coat.

When you step outside, the sound of fresh snow crunching underfoot surprises you. You look skyward and see that a light flurry has started, as if the skies were celebrating your graduation from a miserly lifestyle.

He’s got his back to you when you approach, and it is only now that you recognize how much taller he is.

When you reach out to tap his shoulder you nearly have to go on tiptoes, difficult while balancing two mugs in your hands.

“Uhm, excuse me?”

“Hm?”

He looks over his shoulder, then down at you. His skin is caramel, nose rosy red and high cheeks flushed with the cold, but he doesn’t seem bothered the slightest.

“Oh, hello.” He rubs at his nose, then gives a bit of an awkward laugh. “Sorry, am I blocking the path? Let me get this out of the way!”

He steps back and assess where he can roll the snowball, but it’s so hilariously mammoth that he cannot get it past any parked cars.

“Hah… How many times has this happened today?” He mulls to himself, seeming quite somber now.

Then suddenly, he gets into a strange position and pulls his fist back. You realize what he is trying to do just a second before it is too late and cry out, rushing beside him in protest.

“Hold on! Hold on, don’t break it!”

He stops his strike in midair and peers at you from under his arm, an eyebrow cocked up in confusion.

“What’s wrong? I can just make another, no big deal.”

You shake your head and push his arm down, only now noticing the bits of snowball chunks lying haphazardly in the road.  
Was this why he was out here so long?

“No, I don’t need to get past you. I just came out here to give you something.”

You hold out one of your mugs to him, adorned with musical notes, filled to the brim with thick hot cocoa and cream.

“Sorry… It might’ve cooled down a bit since I’ve made it.”

He takes a moment to register this, but once he does his face lights up with absolute glee.

He points to himself and you realize he has no gloves.

“For me? Really? You’re way too kind!”

He takes the drink from your hands and his calloused hand brushes against yours, large and undeniably freezing.

You raise the cup to your own lips as you watch him sip his drink and rear back, nearly burning himself. While he’s distracted, you take in his warm and boyish features.  
He was unruly damn near everywhere, his hair, his eyebrows, his untucked clothes and lopsided jacket, but there was something lovely about his smile; just as sweet as honey and cozy as a kindling fire.

You’re so focused on staring at him that you don’t even realize he’s laser-beaming the pack of marshmallows lodged under your arm.

“Oh, here. You can take this, it’s for the drinks.”

You turn and allow him to pluck it from your body, intrigued with the way his eyes shine with delight.

“This is the good kind! I can’t remember the last time I had marshmallows and hot cocoa.”

He tries to open the bag with one hand, then his teeth before you stop him, unable to keep in your laughter.

“Woah woah, why don’t we sit down somewhere first?”

You look around, but there is nowhere for you to sit. When you turn back around to the man, he has already started clearing a snowy area on the curbside with his bare hand.

“Come! I found a good spot right here!”

He plops down and stretches out his legs. You step over his snow-sodden sneakers and ease next to him, though keeping a respectable distance is proving to be difficult. You’re both wedged between two cars and he is quite broad-shouldered.

You both end up sandwiched together but he doesn’t seem to mind and neither do you. He radiates heat like a sauna.

Theres a moment where neither of you speak and there’s only the rustling of the marshmallow bag, but then he breaks the silence again.

“Thanks for all of this, by the way.”

You glance at him and he’s smiling at you again, cheeks bulging slightly from the number of marshmallows he’s shoved into his mouth.

You want to thank him too, for saving you from another dreary, forgettable and terrible night. But you can’t find the words, so you just nod and look down at your legs, so much shorter than his own.

“No problem.”

He gives you a toothy grin and then returns to enjoying his drink, slowly this time.

The streetlights illuminate the streets with a candid yellow glow, homes brewing with life within cold brick walls. You’ve always felt so unwelcome here, stifled in the silence of loneliness, but something about tonight makes the neighborhood feel different.

“Why were you out here by yourself so late?” You ask, voice nearly a whisper.

He scratches at the back of his head, tousling it even further. “I wasn’t supposed to be! Me and my friend like to make one huge snowman once a year and knock it down, but he got sick this year.”

You feel your lips pulling downwards and into a pout, but he quickly raises his hand in a placating gesture.

“It’s nothing serious! I’ve just been out here trying to make one for the both of us, so maybe he’ll cheer up.”  
He looks into the sky then laughs, dimples forming on his cheeks and coloring your cheeks pink.  
“It’s a bit too late for that though. I was just going to make it alone and send him a picture, but it’s way too dark now.”

He sighs and drops his head dramatically, giving you a bit of a cheesy grin. “ I shouldn’t be complaining though, I’m just glad that there’s someone here with me this year too.”

He looks at you and his smiling eyes are the deepest, warmest brown you’ve ever seen, the color of the darkest coffee, the finest chocolate.

You urge yourself to look away because there is a strange sensation in your stomach, a tightening of your throat.  
You swirl the rapidly cooling hot chocolate in your mug, watching wordlessly as stray snowflakes drift into the cup and melt away, leaving only your reflection.

A hand enters your vision, delicately dropping a marshmallow into your mug.

You look over and he’s folding up the empty bag, wedging it into his pockets.

“Last one! Sorry, I lose track when I eat sometimes.” He laughs again and it’s a gorgeous sound, rich and smooth. You wish you could bottle it up and listen to it on other nights, the ones that seem to drag on forever no matter how long you sleep.

“It’s okay.” You say. You do not mention that you’d give all the marshmallows in the world to see him again.

“What’s your name?” He asks, warming his hands on the mug. It looks tiny in his hands, but it was the largest cup in your kitchen.

“I’m (Y/N).” You answer, snow beginning to settle on your coat. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ben.” He says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You think the name sounds familiar before you realize he’s Ben Park, just as strong and reckless as the rumors say.

You look to the sky, a deep blue fading to black, noticing for the first time how the clusters of stars shine so brightly at night.

“You’re not as scary as they say.”

He’s distracted by the design on his mug and misses what you say.

“Sorry, what?”

You exhale a bit through your nose, a smile playing at your lips.

“Nothing. I just said you’re good company.”

He smiles again and you savor every moment, wondering if it was bizarre to enjoy a stranger’s company so much.

“We should see each other again.”

It’s a declaration, but you think you see his hands shake as he says this. Perhaps from the cold, perhaps not.

“I’d like that.”

The wind blows a bit harsher and you shiver, retracting into yourself just slightly. Beside you. Ben notices this and leans closer to you, pressing your cheek against his arm.

“Where do you live?” You ask, accepting his warmth and tucking your body into his.

He points at a house just a ways down.

“That’s Gogo’s house.”

Moves his finger to the house across the both of you.

“That’s mine.”

You hum, but the concept strums electricity into your heart, making you entirely too giddy to not break out into song and dance.

“Where are you?” He asks, his voice rumbling deep in his chest.

You point to your house and he gives another sugary sweet smile.

“Nice.”

You sit alongside Ben, his chin resting on your head. You do not fear the lull of silence that follows the end of the conversation.  
It is comfortable unlike anything you’ve experienced before, huddled in the snow, under the ever expanding, dark yet shining night sky. In this desolate, familiar yet unfamiliar street, you wonder if you were never so alone after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed, be sure to let me know with a kudos or a comment below. If you have a request, be sure to send me one at: < https://xbunnybunz.tumblr.com/ >  
> Until next time!


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